Nicholas looked at Gabrielle, and signed that he wished to say something to her in private. 'What do you mean?' again asked Madame Berthier. 'May I say a few words to Gabrielle first, outside the door?' 'By all means,' answered the poor lady, laughing. The girl hesitated, but Nicholas winked and nodded to her, and contrived to express by cabalistic signs the importance of the communication he desired to make. This did not reassure Gabrielle, who hung back more reluctantly than before; but her mistress insisted on her following Nicholas, and the young man, taking her arm, drew her into the passage. 'What is it, Nicholas?' she asked; 'I wish you would not be so mysterious. You quite frighten me.' 'Do not be angry, my dear friend,' he replied, 'it is about that poor unhappy lady I want to speak to you. I expected to find you alone here.' 'Then why did you come?' asked Gabrielle. 'I did not know that there was a prospect of finding you alone when I started,' pursued Nicholas; 'but I heard that M. Foulon was dead. Dreadful! it is reported that he poisoned himself, but that may be only a report and worthless. As I came here, I passed the funeral procession.' 'But, Nicholas, my mistress knows nothing of this.' 'How strange! She is his daughter. Has she not been told that her father is dead?' 'No. She did not know of his illness.' 'That is wonderful,' said the young man. 'But possibly the family were not aware that she had left the Bastille.' 'They must surely have known that.' 'Anyhow,' continued Nicholas, 'I saw the funeral on its way through the Rue S. Honoré to the church of S. Rocque. The cortège is splendid, and is passing through all the most important streets. Several carriages follow the hearse. No expense seems to have been spared.' 'Are you sure of this, Nicholas?' 'Perfectly,' answered the young man; 'I went myself to the mansion in the Rue du Temple, where the entrance-doorway was converted into a _chapelle ardente_, hung with black and adorned with the armorial bearings of the deceased.' 'What is to be done?' exclaimed Gabrielle. 'I think you ought to tell madame. I was dismayed when I entered and found her here. I cannot understand it. I will wait whilst you inform her. I will remain outside. Go in, Gabrielle.' 'I dare not.' 'Why not?' asked madame from within. 'I have heard all. You foolish children; you should speak lower. I am quick of hearing. My father dead! My father being buried! Well! I will attend his funeral, though not invited. Perhaps Berthier is there, and has kept the secret from me. Alas! I do not love my father, but I am sorry that he is dead. Come, my children, let us go to the church; I must see him once more.' She threw her bonnet and veil upon her head and prepared to sally forth. 'You see I am always in mourning,--always ready for a death. The cat cannot come. He is in too gay a costume. He must be put in trappings of woe when we return.'